Laundry Service Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time...

Like four days ago, I thought I was a god damn genius when I made the executive decision that my body isn't meant to do laundry. My hands seize up and I walk into walls and shit. The cerebellum pretty much shuts down. Bright idea! I'll get a cheap ass, efficient, pro-working man laundry service. Things are looking up for ol' Dub Jeezy.

With this new laundry freedom, I am treating my room like Tom Cruise treated his house in Risky Business. Clothes are everywhere and I am throwing shit around with reckless abandon. It is then, I realize, I don't want a stranger handling some of my clothes. A man's whites are basically an invitation into their soul. This is bad news before it even began. What if they have a blacklight?! Is this some NBC Dateline investigation type of shit, because if it is, I am screwed. I am seriously thinking this is some candid camera, slip on a banana peel type shit. Laundry service is scheduled to pick up my sad sack of clothes in roughly two hours. Don't know what to do here. I am debating removing my unmentionables (and scared to mentionables) and washing them on my own, but I am a man (I'm 40!!), a working man. My life sucks too much to give a shit about this stuff. Who knows, a really hot girl with a fetish for stank ass, questionably stained clothing could be the one to drop my clothes off.

I'll probably just cancel my order.